The Adventures Of Tribble 5765
by Twin Sun Leader
Summary: "Petting the tribble in order to make it purr for a therapeutic purpose is absolutely logical, Captain." (Or: how Tribble #5765 became the most famous tribble of the galaxy.) Post Star Trek: Into Darkness


_A translation of Les aventures de Tribble #5765 by Jainas._

_This cracky one-shot was born in a drabble tree but grew far beyond, as it sometimes happens. It was also the perfect opportunity to indulge in my love for outside POVs… with a twist. ^^_  
_As always, I must thank the marvelous Sunlit Stone for her mindful beta, the translation wouldn't be half as good without her. Needless to say, all remaining mistakes are my own._

* * *

**The Adventures of Tribble #5765**

Tribble #5765 was one of the few survivors from the invasion of the fluffy balls of fur that had plagued the Federation spaceship USS Enterprise NCC–1701 on week 76 of its mission and almost caused its destruction by shedding hairs in all the delicate machinery (to the great displeasure of the Chief Engineer) and by breeding exponentially fast (to the great displeasure of the rest of the crew, barring the xenobiology folks who found the whole experience fascinating and indeed pretty exciting).

Most of its cohort suffered a bleak destiny, but Tribble #5765 was for its part lucky enough to be spared and sent to the laboratory when Starfleet officers managed to wrestle back control of the situation. Carefully kept apart from its kind and submitted to a drastic diet in order to keep it from spawning, a tribble loses its feared pest status, able to bring dread even to the Klingon Empire, and turns back into a simple animal – a pretty cute one even, according to human standards. (It may be of interest to know that due to their incredible multiplication rate and their cellular structure even closer to humans than pigs' are, tribbles are deemed highly useful guinea pigs, which explains Tribble #5765's unforeseen reprieve.)

However, it finally met a tragic end during an experiment on radiation resistance, and its tale–already fairly adventurous for one of its kind– would have stopped there, if not for Dr Leonard McCoy's decision to make it the subject of one last experiment, and to inject it with the blood of the genetically engineered human known as Khan Noonien Singh.

Tribble #5765 never knew any of that, of course. Neither did it ever realise that it had been part of a miraculous raising of the dead: its understanding was much too limited. As far as it knew, it simply woke up in a new cage with the munchies and a renewed urge to procreate.

It also didn't know that it owed its continued survival to "an illogical attachment to a creature that should be under a microscope, Doctor McCoy."

"I know, I'm a doctor, not space SPCA!"

"However, you are right: Captain Kirk does owe his life to it, from a certain point of view. And as the purring of tribbles is on a frequency that has positive effects on humans, keeping it in the hospital room may have a therapeutic impact that it would be illogical to ignore."

"Careful, Spock. If you keep going on I'll start to believe you're the one with an illogical attachment …"

"I don't see what you mean, Doctor. The attachments formed by Vulcans are always highly logical. Now, if you do not have any objections, I am on my way to visit the Captain. I can leave the cage in his room."

And that's how Tribble #5765 became James Tiberius Kirk's pet. Or rather: that's how Tribble #5765 came into contact with James Tiberius Kirk.

Its promotion to the rank of pet was a less straightforward matter.

/

Tribbles have a rather limited awareness of their environment and their sight is exceptionally weak, but they have a keen sense of smell in order to locate food (or predators if needed, even though their only realistic means of defence is number) and an equally keen hearing (in order to locate other tribbles with whom they can make more baby tribbles). They are also quite sensitive to touch. Therefore, while Tribble #5765 had been vaguely aware of its change of location, from its point of view the actual upheaval took place when someone took it out of its cage, wedged it in the crook of their arm and started to pet it in a frankly fantastic way that made it start a rigorous and satisfied purr. Tribbles also having a rather limited grasp of the passage of time, Tribble #5765 would have been unable to guess how long the divine scratching session lasted before he was given to someone else's hands–different smell and different handling: obvious.

However, Tribble #5765 wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth and it took quickly to being cuddled and petted by the various individuals succeeding each other in the honour of serving it and didn't hold back its purring… until the day where its dozing, the petting it was being given and the purring resulting from it all came to a rude and brutal ending. It was carelessly dropped off onto an unknown new surface–a moving one, too! Potential danger? Tribble #5765 opened wide its one auditory canal and stood ready to play dead, just in case.

"Captain!"

"I… What? Uh–"

"Don't move, Captain. You are at the hospital… Doctor McCoy? Nyota speaking, the Captain just woke up… Yes, of course… Yes… Captain! Don't try to move please, Leonard is on his way."

"Khan?"

"Isn't a threat anymore, the Enterprise was saved, Jim…"

"Water…"

"Here you go…"

The ensuing noises made Tribble #5765 feel thirsty.

"Thanks. I feel like I have a dead thing in my mouth…"

"Oh, Jim. You were in a coma for almost two weeks; we've all been very worried."

By then Tribble #5765 had figured it was probably safe and had allowed its attention to drift, until a stronger shake of the surface it was on raised its watchfulness back up.

"... Nyota, why is there a tribble on my lap?"

New hands seized Tribble #5765 and kneaded it weakly. It purred.

"... Some studies suggest that people in a coma are sensitive to the positive therapeutic effects of tribbles purring…"

"... well, if it's therapeutic… Don't mind me if I pass out a little now, though. I don't feel very–"

The petting stopped, but the hands still on it were broad and pleasant: Tribble #5765 kept vocally expressing its approbation. After a long while the same hands as before extracted it carefully from the warm hold, and put it back in its cage. Well… too bad.

For all that, the misadventures of Tribble #5765 were far from over.

Maybe "an illogical attachment" had saved it from dissection, but nevertheless it was now a scientific superstar and everybody and their aunt wanted it in order to work out the exact functioning of the serum and discover more on its potential side effects. However reluctantly, Tribble #5765 was now the most famous tribble of the galaxy among the scientific circles, and maybe even outside of them: the galaxy as a whole didn't have a vested interest in its species (which to be fair didn't quite distinguish itself by the individuality of its members). An enthusiastic professor with a lyrical bent had even called it "the Lazarus of tribbles".

But the only thing Tribble #5765 knew was that wicked gloved hands often tore it away from its territory to fondle it in an unpleasant way, holding it still while some of the fur that was it pride and joy (and sex appeal to other tribbles) was shorn in a cavalier way and sensors applied onto its skin, while blood was drawn or other wretched exams were performed upon it. (To be fair, Captain Kirk was in the meantime subjected to almost exactly the same exams… not that it would have comforted Tribble #5765 much to know it.)

"And so the furball is patient zero?"

"Calling it thus implies a medical phenomenon pertaining to contagion, or at least transmission from one individual to another through natural means, which is far from the case here, Captain. The serum based on Khan's blood was artificially injected and does not contain any molecule able to self-propagate."

It was the very first hands, the warmest that always pressed with a regular rhythm and a perfectly mastered pressure, always the same from one time to the next. Tribble #5765 was rather fond of those hands, though the ones with the nails lightly scratching at the roots of its fur were almost as good (not that it had a hand prize list, of course).

"Sure, be rational if you insist on it. Thank you for popping by, though."

"I am your second-in-command. It is only logical that I keep you informed of the ongoing repair work on the Enterprise and of the diverse procedures underway following the actions of Khan and Admiral Marcus."

A sigh.

"I thought we were past that."

"Captain?"

"You don't need a reason to come see me at the hospital, Spock. When I… when I was dying, and you were there… I remember."

The hands holding Tribble #5765 froze abruptly, their tension becoming unpleasant. Tribble #5765 let out a distressed whine. The pressure immediately relented, but the petting shamefully didn't start again.

"Captain."

"I won't make you say it again Spock, and I know you find it painful, that you would rather not feel anything, probably… But I wanted to say, thank you for having been there. Thank you for being here, and being my friend."

There was no more talking after that, but the fingers tense against its fur relaxed slowly, finally resuming their slow rhythm. Tribble #5765 let itself be soothed to sleep in the easy silence.

Tribbles may not have a good grasp of the passage of time, but Tribble #5765 knew enough to realize that visitors, pettings and exams all stopped during the night cycle, only to start again as soon as the light was back on. It was a routine it had quickly embraced and that had not been interrupted since it had been put in Captain Kirk's room…. This is why when gloved hands, unknown and harsh, grabbed it in its cage and it woke to realize it was still dark, Tribble #5765 found itself quite worried. It was obviously too late to play dead, but it let slip a vigorous whine that made the hands holding it swear in a low voice. And suddenly there was light again, and the voice of the hands it had come to identify as "Captain" rose.

"What? Hey you, drop that tribble!"

Tribble #5765 was tossed around, dropped unceremoniously into an uncomfortable bag, then carelessly jolted again as the hands ran away.

A piercing ring resounded at once, almost covering the sound of two pairs of feet running. A sharp turn sent Tribble #5765 swinging with momentum and it started squeaking again, as loud as it knew how.

Other noises, voices.

"Bones, catch him! He kidnapped my tribble!"

"Dammit Jim, why are you up?!"

"Catch him!"

Other jolts, incomprehensible noises, impacts.

Immobility.

Silence.

"Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a redshirt!"

"Well done, Bones. Nice forearm blow."

"And don't even think about trying to get out of this with flattery. What were you thinking, running after that guy? You are recovering for god's sake! Do I need to remind you that one week ago you were in a coma and that two days before that you were dead?"

Rustlings, and movements of the tight space that held Tribble #5765. Light, hands.

"Hey buddy; you had some adventures, didn't you? Come and see Uncle Jim…"

After the rough and uncomfortable bag, Captain's hands were noticeably warm: Tribble #5765 briefly interrupted its whining, before deciding that the short respite wasn't enough to be trusted and starting again, just in case.

"You know tribbles are hermaphrodites, Jim."

"So what? He can be a boy tribble. And stop waving that thing under my nose, will you?"

"You go running around, you bear the consequences, Jimmy. You're still under enough medication to supply a nursing home for a month. Ha, security! You weren't in a hurry, were you? Put that guy behind bars, and faster than that! And you, back to your room, chop-chop!"

"That kind of talk didn't work when I was eleven Bones, I don't think it'll work now…"

"But did your mother have one of these?"

"Okay, okay! Put away that hypospray, I'm going, no need to take it that way… I wasn't about to let that guy scamper away with my tribble."

"Technically it's Starfleet's tribble."

"It was on my ship, it's my tribble."

"If you want to play it that way, it was in _my _medical bay."

"But it's okay then, all that's yours is mine…"

"I don't know what keeps me from stabbing you in the neck with that hypospray."

"You don't want to add a sedative to that wonderful cocktail of anti-radiation drugs and genetically modified blood already coursing through my veins? Also I could hurt myself falling down and it would be your fault."

"Don't tempt me."

"No, look, I'm getting in bed!"

"Give me the tribble, I'll put it back in its cage before having a word or two with the Security Officer, that guy should never have made it to your room."

"No, leave it, I'll keep it a while…"

The hands let it down in a comfortable groove just as the light was finally turned off, but didn't let it go, stroking its fur lightly before simply resting on its body. After having given the matter further thought (and, to be frank, worn out from so much panic), Tribble #5765 decided to stop whining.

It slept.

/

"–will not happen again. Measures have been taken and the security around the hospital has been reinforced. Such laxity is unacceptable. Not only is the patients' safety at stakes, but also public security…"

"You gave them an earful."

"I most certainly did not. I only listed the many inadmissible failures in various levels of management that led to the incident. _Doctor McCoy _gave them an earful."

"Ow, don't make me laugh, it hurts."

"Doctor McCoy is right, Captain…"

"Jim."

"Jim. In your state, getting up and–"

"I know, I know. I may have overdone it a little with the pursuit and the running –but don't tell Bones I said that. I have regrets, happy?"

"Jim..."

"…I know."

A silence, during which Tribble #5765's pillow twisted a bit, without waking it totally. It burrowed a bit deeper in the fabric creases, closer to the warmth, and purred blissfully.

"Spock, you know I can't promise not to do the same thing again, if I really had to."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. Your choice to go into the reactor chamber was only logical, there is nothing more to be said about it."

"Spock…"

"I don't wish to talk about this further, Jim."

"You are so boneheaded. No wonder Nyota is tearing her hair out."

"I do have bones in my head, but this second idiom is totally inaccurate, Captain. And I thought that you didn't want to–and I quote– "be dragged into your dirty laundry airing," in which case referring to it seems a highly dubious strategy to achieve your goal."

"I'm bedridden! I do what I can to distract myself and not dwell."

"..."

"So. Do we know why that fellow tried to steal Fluffy?"

"In spite of Starfleet's secrecy on the matter, rumours on the properties of Khan's blood have leaked and inspired greed. It seems that our would-be thief got his intel from an excessively chatty member of the cleaning staff. Kidnapping you would have raised many issues, while stealing a mere tribble must have appeared easier–wrongly so. But… Fluffy, Captain?"

"I know, I know, it is illogical to name an animal and–"

"You are mistaken, Captain. Though they don't share it, Vulcans understand and accept the drive for an emotional species such as humans to name a creature that has proven its singularity and with which they have bonded, however irrational that bond may seem. It's your tribble, you are free to name it."

"Ha! Don't let Bones hear you, Spock. So it's this particular name that you don't like rather than the naming?

"Fluffy is not a very… serious name, Captain. I must say I am surprised."

"It's a tribble, Spock. Look at it, it has nothing serious whatsoever, it's basically a cute fluffball… You can't deny it, I saw you cuddling it when you thought I was asleep."

"Petting the tribble in order to make it purr for a therapeutic purpose is absolutely logical, Captain."

"Suuuure, totally logical… And what would you call it then?"

"If you want a name based on a particular characteristic of the animal, you do have options other than 'Fluffy' or 'Caramel'."

"That's cute, you want to give it a logical name! In that case maybe you'd prefer 'Lazarus'? It's traditional… Or maybe Aristeas? Orpheus? Elvis? Or, I know: Resurectator!"

"..."

"Ha Spock, you should see your face… But believe me, it's better this way, unless you'd rather have Chekov try to name it Koschei or Rasputin…"

"No need to go on, Captain, I get the idea."

And that's how Tribble #5765 became Fluffy and, later on, boldly went where no tribble had gone before.

But that's another story.


End file.
